


Must Be The Clouds In My Eyes

by Duck_Life



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3854719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds a new jogging buddy. Wanda's not big on talking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Must Be The Clouds In My Eyes

Sam picks a good morning for his first run at the new Avengers facility. It’s just slightly overcast and the birds are chirping, and the ground is dry and solid beneath his tired sneakers. It’s only after he finishes stretching out his legs that he realizes he’s not alone.

The Maximoff kid’s there, thick hair tied back in a ponytail that swings back and forth like a pendulum as she makes her way around the elliptical track. When she catches sight of him, she juts her head forward and studiously avoids eye contact with him as she races past.

Sam just shrugs and starts up his laps. He notices when she cuts her workout short and goes back inside, shooting furtive glances over her shoulder, but he doesn’t stop running.

The next time he goes out to run she’s there again, Nike shorts and an overlarge maroon shirt whipping in the wind. When he starts gaining on her, she slows and turns around, her expression stopping him in his tracks. “I prefer to run alone,” she tells him.

It happens again after that, and he actually feels kind of bad about it. He wasn’t _planning_ it, but it’s just such a nice morning and he’s already in his running gear. Wanda’s running again, and Sam at least makes the conscious effort to keep as far away from her as possible, running in the lane furthest from her and purposely slowing down and speeding up to keep enough distance between them.

Wanda doesn’t seem to care. She puts on a burst of speed just so she can get in his face and remind him, “I told you I prefer to run _alone_.” The tips of her fingers flare red for a moment before she catches herself.

Sam stops, panting slightly. “Seems like there’s a lot you like to do alone,” he comments, letting his hands rest on his hips.

He must have caught her off-guard. “I eat with the team.”

“You don’t _eat_ , you make yourself a plate and run off somewhere.” He shrugs, trying not to sound argumentative. She’s just a kid, really. And it’s not like she’s being overtly _hostile_. “I just—you kind of seem like you don’t want to be here.”

Brushing hair out of her face, she smiles bitterly. “Where else would I go?”

About a week later, they end up back on the track together, and this time she wheels on him. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Maybe,” Sam admits. “You’re avoiding everyone else.”

“What do you want me to do?” she says, mirroring him with her hands on her hips. “Suggest we all go out for a bowling night? Cram everyone into a photo booth? Dance around in a fountain with the rest of the team?”

“Oh, so you’ve been reading my diary,” he says, grinning a little. It does little to lighten her mood. “Look, Steve’s going to send us into the field eventually. I think, maybe, we need to build a little rapport before that happens. And I get along fine with Rhodey and Vizh. _You_ , on the other hand…”

“I don’t think we need to build a rapport,” she says. “I think as long as we can kill things, we will be fine.”

The next time, Sam’s already on his third lap when Wanda shows up outside. She seems visibly annoyed when she sees him, but nevertheless continues to stretch before she starts up, shoes digging into the track with such ferocity that he’s surprised she isn’t leaving imprints.

They don’t talk, just run, looping around the track one after the other, silent except for the sound of sneakers on Tartan track. And as they go, Sam starts to notice something.

She keeps speeding up, passing him again and again. Unlike Steve, she doesn’t call out every time she does it, just keeps on going. Sam runs, keeping an eye on his teammate as he does.

Wanda’s practically flying now, her legs propelling her forward like she’s being fired from a gun. Her ponytail trails behind her. Sam can hear her breathing, sharp and fast, as she gains on him and overtakes him, again and again and again.

And then she starts to look erratic. Her legs jerk at awkward angles, her arms swing too rapidly. When she passes him this time, he can hear that she’s hyperventilating. “Wanda?” She’s up ahead of him, looking like she might fall over at any second. “Wanda,” he calls, louder, pushing himself forward so he can catch up with her.

Her breaths come sharp and jagged, she’s slowing down but trying like hell not to, pushing herself too hard. When Sam shows up behind her, she whips around and glares at him. “No,” she says, and it sounds like a lament. “No, I need to go _faster_.”

“Wanda-”

“I need to go _faster_ ,” she repeats, face flushed, breathing too fast. Sam reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder, partly worried she’s about to pass out, when with a flourish of red light he gets knocked on his ass, shoved back to the other edge of the track.

Wanda glances from Sam to her hand, and then back, looking horrified. Still gasping for breath, she kneels down and sits at the edge of the grass on the inside of the track. A bird squawks overhead and Wanda waits for her breathing to get back to normal. Sam watches patiently.

“So,” Wanda says, finally, staring across the track at Sam. “You know?”

Sam ducks his head, hands folded together in front of him. “I read the reports from the Avengers,” he tells her. “I put it together.”

Wanda nods, plucking out fistfuls of grass from the ground beneath her. “Pietro would have been good on this team,” she tells him. “He… he could’ve fought, and ran. I can just… hurt people. And remind them that they’ve been hurt.”

“The way Steve tells it, you kicked some robot ass back in Sokovia.”

“I could have saved him,” Wanda says, so abrupt after weeks of shutting herself away. “I… I could have saved my brother.”

No one else is awake yet, and the outdoors of the complex remains still and silent but for the two of them. “Yes,” Sam says after a while, “yes, you could have.” Wanda’s eyes fix on him, surprised. “So could Steve. Or Natasha. Or he could have dodged the bullets. Or _I_ could have been there, helping.” Sam examines her carefully; he knows this, he’s used to this. Survivor’s guilt. Losing people. “I could have saved your brother, if I’d been there, but I wasn’t. Do you blame me?”

Blades of grass collect in a small, sad little pile on the track in front of Wanda as she dutifully rips them from the earth. “I don’t.”

“Then you don’t need to blame yourself.” He waits for her to get up and leave, to storm off, but Wanda just sits there, listening. “I know you think no one could ever know how you feel. But… I do. And so does Steve. And Nat, and Rhodey.” Cautiously, he cracks a smile. “Jury’s still out on whether the Vision has _feelings_ , but-”

“He does,” Wanda interrupts him. “He does have feelings.” Sam raises on eyebrow. “I know you think I don’t talk to anyone, but I… I talk to him.”

“That’s good,” Sam says. “You should keep that up. And you should talk to the rest of us.” Wanda leans back, looking uncomfortable. “I’m—look, I’m not saying jump into this thing _right away_. You can move at your own speed. Just…” He pushes himself up, crosses the track, extends a hand to help her up. “Don’t stand still.”

She takes his hand, stands with him. They end up making it back inside in time for breakfast.

Wanda eats at the table with the rest of them. 


End file.
